


A Suitably Cautious Approach

by china_shop



Category: White Collar
Genre: Coming Out, Established Relationship, F/M, Fic, M/M, Multi, outsider pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-26
Updated: 2010-09-26
Packaged: 2017-10-12 05:11:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/121153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/china_shop/pseuds/china_shop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mozzie looked from her to the Suit—who was clearly even more embarrassed by the situation than Mozzie was, which helped Mozzie's composure considerably—and then back to Neal. "Really?"</p><p>Neal gave a small, immodest shrug and walked over to stand between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Suitably Cautious Approach

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mergatrude](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mergatrude/gifts).



> Set before 1.09. Contains a small reference to something in 2.04.

The Suit's car was parked outside June's place when Mozzie arrived. Up until then, the dinner invitation had seemed innocent enough, except that Neal rarely bothered with formal invitations, but the presence of an FBI agent was never a good sign. Mozzie hoped Neal wasn't trying to make them all be friends—it was the kind of misguided thing he would do, possibly out of pity for the Suit, who didn't seem to have any social acquaintances of his own. But Mozzie didn't even like to shake hands with someone until he'd done a full background check, including medical history.

For the sake of peace of mind, he decided to do a little reconnaissance before he knocked on Neal's door. If there were an interesting sounding case in the works, Mozzie would make a proper entrance, but if he didn't like the lay of the land, he could safely retreat and send Neal his apologies via text message.

He entered June's abode through the kitchen, with a word of greeting to Katarina the maid, and trod carefully up the stairs, stepping over the two squeaky ones just above the first landing. At Neal's door, he pulled a stethoscope out of his bag and pressed the chestpiece to the wood.

"—have talked about this first?" said a woman's voice, sounding a little startled.

"I figured the more advance notice, the more Peter would freak out." That was Neal.

The Suit spoke up. "You can't seriously intend to tell your little friend about us."

Mozzie glared at the door, sure the Suit meant him and annoyed by the epithet. Sure enough:

"His name is Mozzie," said Neal, with enough valiant loyalty to considerably soothe Mozzie's ruffled feelings. "And he won't care. Trust me, it'll be far worse if it's some conspiracy he keeps stumbling upon. Then he'll never let it go. If I tell him, it'll be five minutes of gaping like a fish and awkward questions, and then he'll assimilate it into his worldview and move on. He's good at keeping secrets."

Mozzie frowned. What on earth were they talking about? And who was the woman?

"And what if he doesn't?" asked the Suit.

The woman spoke again. "Honey, I think Neal knows his friend better than we do."

Ah, it must be Mrs. Suit. So that meant—it couldn't be work-related, then. Something personal that involved the three of them? A wild idea popped into Mozzie's head, but he dismissed it immediately. The Suit and Mrs. Suit would never—

Neal was talking again. Mozzie blinked and brought his attention back to his eavesdropping.

"—doesn't, we just need to distract him with something more interesting," Neal was saying. "Got any cases lined up involving secret messages or codes?"

"I can make codes," said Mrs. Suit. "So Neal, what exactly are you planning to say to him?"

"And why exactly do we have to be here for that part?" added the Suit, sounding vaguely horrified.

Mrs. Suit ignored him and continued, "You can't just blurt out that we're all sleeping together. It's not exactly polite dinner conversation."

Mozzie's jaw dropped and so did the chestpiece of the stethoscope. The ear pieces stayed in, and it probably wouldn't have made much noise at all if he hadn't scrambled to catch it and, in the process, sent it clattering against the door. He took a step back and thought about bolting for the street, but Neal was already standing there, glancing from Mozzie's heated face to the stethoscope and back again.

He met Mozzie's eye with an apologetic grimace that nevertheless managed to convey extreme smugness, and looked over his shoulder to the dinner table. "I think that point's just been rendered moot."

"I—" said Mozzie. "You shouldn't—" He took a deep breath and pulled himself up to his full height. "With the _Suits_?"

Neal grabbed his sleeve and yanked him inside, shutting the door carefully behind them. "A little discretion, Moz," he said. "You're not really backing up my character reference here."

"Well, pardon me if I'm a little shocked that you're literally in bed with The Man," said Mozzie.

"And the woman," said Mrs. Suit, with a self-conscious smile. She went and got another glass. "Syrah or cabernet sauvignon?"

"I think I—" Mozzie really wanted to retreat to somewhere private and consider the implications of this information before he let himself relax in their company, but Neal was looking hopeful, and Mozzie had never learned how to say no to Neal. He sighed and nodded to Mrs. Suit with as much dignity as he could muster. "Syrah. Thank you, Mrs. Suit."

"Call me El." Her smile softened, and she poured him a glass of wine.

Mozzie looked from her to the Suit—who was clearly even more embarrassed by the situation than Mozzie was, which helped Mozzie's composure considerably—and then back to Neal. "Really?"

Neal gave a small, immodest shrug and walked over to stand between them.

The Suit covered his face with his hands and groaned softly, and Mrs. Suit patted his shoulder. "It's okay." She met Mozzie's gaze head on and raised her eyebrows at him. "Isn't it?"

Mozzie squared his shoulders and looked at the three of them again, this time with careful analytical detachment: if they'd been a code, he'd have made short work of it. Neal was going to have to teach the others about subterfuge, but for all that, there was something pleasing about the picture they made together—so long as Mozzie didn't dwell on the mechanics of it.

And it was just like Neal to lay claim to the unattainable, so at least the proper order of the universe was still intact.

El was waiting for his answer, and the Suit—Mozzie supposed he should try to think of him as Peter now—had dropped his hands and was staring at him too.

As much as Mozzie liked a dramatic moment, he really was in need of that wine now. He nodded to El. "It's okay."

She beamed at him and pushed the glass across the table, and Mozzie sat down and took a grateful gulp.

Neal opened his mouth, no doubt to start explaining how he'd conspired to bring about this bizarre arrangement and the intimate details of same, but Peter held up his hands and said, somewhat plaintively, "How about we just eat this nice food you cooked for us and talk about something innocuous like the weather?"

Mozzie shot him a grateful look—perhaps it wouldn't be so bad having help reining in Neal's worst impulses—and raised his glass of syrah in a toast. "To the weather."

 

END


End file.
